A Day in Azkaban
by chimere
Summary: OK, I wrote this years ago and really don't think much of it myself any more, but I don't have the heart do delete it. I'm afraid I'm also too lazy to edit it. Read at your own risk. Truly sorry for the bad English and general childishness.


  
Author: chimere  
Title: A Day in Azkaban  
Disclaimer: everything except my bad English belongs to JK Rowling the Magnificent. Plus, there   
is an idea borrowed from a more talented fanfic writer, Jedi Boadicea - the name Lady  
for Sirius' motorcycle (I hope you don't mind).  
Archive: anywhere you like, just make sure that my name and the disclaimer are still attached to  
it.  
Summary: a very gloomy Sirius-in-Azkaban-and-won't-get-out-any-time-soon story.  
Author's note: this is something for all the serious Sirius-fans like myself. Be warned, though,  
that it really IS gloomy. Nothing sweet included, I'm afraid. So - it's your own  
risk:)  
Dedication: to Villanella, who is unfortunate enough to be put through the ordeal of beta-reading  
my stories from time to time. My undying gratitude for your advice, support and most   
of all, your patience to go through the weird stuff I produce.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A Day in Azkaban  
  
  
  
I think it is morning.  
  
At least I wake from the terribly real nightmares of the night into the less lifelike nightmares  
of the day.  
  
I get up and sit on the edge of my bed. The bed's all right - it is quite new, the prison was   
given new beds just a few years ago. But the rest of the furniture - a chair, a table and a   
locker - look like they'd been here forever.  
  
Forever.  
  
I glance at the untidy line of strokes (they look like a child's drawing of a picket fence) that   
I have scratched into the stone wall. It is not the only line - there have been other prisoners   
in this cell before me. I gave up this means of counting days long ago. I wonder how many of the  
previous lines ended for the same reason and how many because of their scratcher's death.   
So I can't really be sure whether the prison was given new beds by the Ministry a few years or a  
few decades ago. I can't be sure that I haven't been here for decades, either. It feels like   
forever anyway.  
  
And I probably look even worse than the furniture. Luckily I don't have a mirror. Even without   
it, though, I can see that my hair has grown almost to my elbows (actually I could have it cut if  
I wanted, but in Azkaban you just lose any desire to take care of your looks). The hair is still  
black, so I can't have been here for MANY decades, nor turned completely mad - they lose their   
hair colour in the process, don't they? But on the other hand, that rule certainly has excep-  
tions, and when does a madman know that he's mad?  
  
The bare stone floor is cold, so I pull my feet back on the bed.  
  
A ray of pale sunlight creeps through the bars of the small window and makes me blink. I'm glad   
that the light has half blinded me, because this way I can't see the Dementor that comes to its  
post behind the bars of my cell door. The day-shift has begun. But even if I can't see it for the  
moment, I can certainly feel it.  
  
I am thankful that they let me be for so long this morning (although it surely happened because   
of some error). It is only now that I remember James and Lily again.  
  
The automatic defence is turned on in my brain - I AM INNOCENT.  
  
It looks like it's going to be a clear day.  
  
  
*  
  
  
On clear days I can remember. I remember that I had that I had a life once, although long ago,   
before I died and was buried here. On very clear days I can even recall that I have been happy,  
remember what light, warmth and laughter are like (though vaguely). But most of the days are   
dark. Then it feels as if I've always been dead, and the only thing that (hopefully) keeps me   
from losing my senses is the knowledge that I'm innocent.  
  
Today seems to be a clear day. Memories of my life (sometimes it is so alien to me that it   
doesn't even seem to be mine, but someone else's) come rushing back, as if to apologize for   
having left me.  
  
I see brief flashes like bright pictures: saying good-bye to my mother on the platform nine and  
three quarters at the beginning of my first year at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall's stern face,  
the terribly boring Divination class, winning Slytherin in Quidditch, the "Three Broomsticks'"  
pub at Hogsmeade, the tinkle in the eyes of Albus Dumbledore...  
  
Then the pictures change and focus on my friends: meeting James on the train to Hogwarts; Remus  
sitting in the library with his nose in a book as usual; Peter getting beaten up by that slimy   
bastard Snape; the look on Moony's face when we told him we were going to become Prongs, Padfoot  
and Wormtail for him; laughing at James when we caught him and Lily trying to sneak out of the  
Gryffindor tower at night; James on his broom, one of the best Seekers I have ever seen...   
James...  
  
Now the pictures get out of my control... James with his usual wide grin, telling us of a   
brilliant plan he had thought up for the next month's adventure; James yelling at me after he had  
brought Snape back from under the Whomping Willow where I had driven him; James at the graduation  
- the Head Boy, of course; James asking me to be the best man at his wedding, the godfather of   
his son Harry, and... his and Lily's Secret-Keeper.  
  
The memory-pictures start flashing faster, but I have no trouble recognizing them - I know them  
all too well. Long and fiery arguments over who should be the Potters' Secret-Keeper... consider-  
ing Dumbledore's offer and casting it aside, not wanting to put him in even greater danger (why,  
WHY didn't we accept it?)... both James and Lily wanting me to be the Secret-Keeper... me, an   
absolute idiot, convincing them that Peter is a better choice... Wormtail looking so proud,   
having heard the final decision - that filthy traitor!... going to check on Peter, just as we had  
agreed I would... not finding him... fear... terrible fear, threatening to stop my heart...   
landing my Lady near the Potters' house... running, running till there's no breath left... and   
seeing that there's no house left, either... James lying in the remains of the living-room, and   
Lily in the next room... the feeling like someone was choking me, and the unability to stop the   
shaking of my hands... suddenly Hagrid, carrying a wailing bundle... Harry... asking that he'd   
be given to me, and being denied... the sudden realization that it was me who had caused his   
parents' death... almost not understanding that Hagrid was asking my permission to take my   
Lady... giving it to him with no regret - I wouldn't need any motorcycle now... grief, rage, and   
desire for revenge... a thousand feelings that make me shake all over... no, NO, this can't be   
true... can't be happening... James, Lily... my godson... everyone believing that it was me who  
betrayed them... and they're right... it was my fault... my fault...   
  
No, says another voice in my head. No, don't think like that. It's the influence of the Dementors  
that makes you feel this way. Resist them. Fight them off. Don't think like that.  
  
But it was my foolishness that caused their deaths... my MISTAKE that left my godson without a   
family... it was my fault... I killed them... I MURDERED them...  
  
I can hardly feel the cold, because it's so strong it has made me numb. No, says the voice again,  
but it's weaker now. No! I didn't do it. I didn't betray them. I have to hold on, I mustn't go   
mad. I'm innocent. I have to remember that. I AM INNOCENT.  
  
But remembering is hard. The clear day has turned dark. I feel myself falling into slumber,   
sinking into the swamp of nightmares.  
  
No... go away, let me be... so cold... you have to let me go... I'm innocent... let me go...  
  
"LET ME GO!"   
  
  
*   
  
  
The scream shakes me awake.  
  
I start violently and stare around wildly. Who cried out my thought?  
  
The sun has moved and doesn't blind me any more. Now there is a golden square of light on the   
floor in front of my bed. One might think that as we are still allowed to see daylight, Azkaban   
cannot be so terrible. But the presence of the Dementors turns light into something worse than   
darkness. I can see light, but I can't feel it or find any joy in it, just as I can remember   
laughter and that I've laughed myself, and yet cannot twist my lips into so much as a wry smile  
any more.  
  
But who was it that cried? I'm certain that the scream didn't come over my lips. Who cried?  
  
I stare into the dimness behind the bars of my cell door. From where I'm sitting, I can see only  
one other cell. It has been empty for months, since the old, grey and mad Death Eater who was   
kept there died. But now the cell has an inhabitant again.  
  
She pounds against the magically strengthened iron bars and cries again, "Let me go! I didn't do  
it! I'm inno-" Just then, the Dementor that brought her to the cell steps closer to her. She   
backs away from it and cries out suddenly, clasping her left arm. (The Dark Mark, I think with-  
out feeling anything. So she really is a Death Eater.) She collapses on her bed, wailing. The   
Dementor retreats a little, but stays behind her cell door.  
  
She must be younger than I (though I don't know how old I am myself), and she is certainly   
pretty. She has long chestnut-brown hair and tanned skin. She is tall and already quite thin - I  
bet they didn't feed her too good while she was kept in the Ministry prison. Well, being in   
Azkaban isn't likely to improve that, either.  
  
I realize that she has stopped wailing. She is staring around now, eyes wide in her face that has  
turned very pale. A frightened sob escapes her lips when she glances at the shadows that hide the   
Dementors - they shun even what little sunlight reaches the cells. She quickly turns her eyes   
away, trying to find something comforting to rest her glance on. Comforting - in Azkaban! I   
almost chuckle.  
  
She looks so confused, frightened and miserable that I feel sorry for her. I know I shouldn't,  
her being a Death Eater and everything, but she's a human being after all. And by now I sometimes  
even think that nobody deserves the punishment of being imprisoned in Azkaban. Death, yes. But   
not Azkaban.  
  
I don't even know why I do it, but I slowly get up and step towards my cell door. Immediately the  
Dementors' grip on my mind strengthens, but I resist it as well as I can and finally reach the   
bars. The Dementor is only a few steps away from me. It doesn't move, but fills my brain with  
grief, anger and guilt, the burden of which quickly becomes almost unbearable.  
  
"Look at me!" I shout to her, desperately clasping the bars. "Help me! I cannot do this alone!"  
  
Her eyes focus on me, and instantly the expression on her face shows that she has to fight the   
Dementors just for the thought of finding someone to talk to here.  
  
"Hold on! Fight 'em!" I cry with what little clear mind I have left. I probably don't resemble a  
comforting sight at all, a bitter thought flashes through my head.  
  
Very slowly her brown eyes clear a little and she returns my desperate gaze through the double   
iron bars more steadily. But by now the torture of the Dementors has reached the very edge of   
unbearability.  
  
"Who are you?" a shaking whisper reaches my ears.  
  
"My name is Sirius," I manage to mutter hoarsely, and just before the will of the Dementors tears  
us apart, I hear an answer, "I am Letitia."  
  
Then I stumble back and collapse even before I can reach my bed, and lose myself in a haze of   
nightmares.  
  
  
*  
  
  
I wake up as Padfoot. It doesn't surprise me - I often transfigurate in sleep when the nightmares  
are very bad. What quite astonishes me is how weak I am. I wouldn't have thought that I'd   
collapse just because of an attempt to talk to another human being. Of course, it IS the first   
time I have spoken to anyone since I was brought to Azkaban, except in the nightmares. But I   
still wouldn't have imagined that it would be so hard.  
  
Then I suddenly realize that there was a reason for my waking. I can hear someone talking.  
  
"Look, I know what I did was wrong, but... errare humanum est, right? This can't be a reason for   
sending someone to Azkaban! You have to let me go! I was just a silly girl who got some bad   
influence! Just let me go, all right?"  
  
Letitia is talking to her empty cell, calmly and reasonably, as if trying to convince somebody in  
her imaginary innocence, but I can hear a hint of panic and desperation in her voice. She can't  
hold on to that illusion much longer.  
  
"It was all so long ago... Do you really think that I'm still an active Death Eater? I know it   
sounds like a worn cliche, but I understood my mistake after the Master's... You Know Who's fall.  
I am ashamed of myself... I would wipe that mark off my arm if I could... I'd never join You   
Know Who's side again, even if he rose and got all the power in the world! You have to believe   
me. I am no longer on the dark side... haven't been for many years... I'm not..." Suddenly   
Letitia's voice breaks. She starts sobbing, but still tries to continue speaking, "Please... I'm  
sorry... I'll do anything... just let me out of this place... please... I'm sorry... please..."  
  
God, how many of them have I seen going down that way! They start blaming themselves and thus   
become even more easy preys for the Dementors. The weaker ones go mad in a matter of days. And  
Letitia looks like she could be weak. I won't just sit here and watch it happen again. Not any  
more.  
  
This time I don't even attempt to get up and approach the cell door. On the contrary, I trans-  
figurate back to my human form and sit on the bed - if I collapse again, at least I won't fall on  
the hard stone floor.  
  
I bet she hasn't noticed that I can be a dog sometimes. I should surprise her with that, a   
mischievous thought enters my mind. But I guess this is no place or time for mischief. (How low   
can you go, you once so perfectly villainous Sirius?)  
  
"I'm so sorry... please, just let me go... please... I'm sorry..."  
  
"Letitia!"  
  
She doesn't wake up yet, but her wailing stops and she blinks, as the nightmare visions rushing   
before her eyes are interrupted.  
  
"Letitia!" I shout again, trying to ignore the Dementors. "Don't be sorry just because they're  
frying your brain. If you really WANT to be sorry, do it out of your own will. Dammit, how did   
you become a Death Eater if you're such a whining weakling? WAKE UP, for heaven's sake!"  
  
My harsh words have the desired effect: Letitia does wake up. For a few moments she looks around  
in confusion, unable to focus her gaze. Then her eyes stop on me, and the tormented expression   
returnes to her face.  
  
"Oh, ignore them," I say with such carelessness that no prisoner of Azkaban could ever really   
feel. "Better tell me what you were babbling about. I couldn't catch all the details - nightmare-  
talk is always a bit hazy."  
  
She stares at me, as if she couldn't believe that even Azkaban could turn someone into SUCH a   
raving lunatic.  
  
"No, before you start talking, have some of this." Trays with food have just been brought to both  
of our cells by one of the Dementor guards. It must be lunch-time (it's strange how slowly the   
clock moves here). All the prisoners are fed just once a day - not that they didn't have food, we   
just don't have much of an appetite.  
  
Actually the food is not bad. This is one of the few times that I notice its taste.  
  
"Eat!" I command with a mouth full of bread. Letitia picks up an apple, looks at it hesitantly,  
but takes a bite.  
  
"They haven't poisoned it. They think that would be too easy."  
  
She opens hes mouth for the first time, "Thanks for waking me up."  
  
"The pleasure's all mine. To be honest, your voice wasn't the best music I've heard. No offence."  
I notice that my words resemble my usual talk again, but I still cannot smile and the Dementor-  
inflicted headache is growing even stronger.  
  
"None taken," she answers, but doesn't smile either.  
  
For a while we eat in silence. When the trays have been taken away, I look at her and say, "So,   
spit it out. What's your story?"  
  
Letitia hesitates for a moment, but then seems to decide that she's got nothing to lose and   
begins, "Well, I actually AM sorry. I come from an overproud pureblood family - Muggle-and-  
Mudblood-hating, of course. They thought that You Know Who's rise was a perfect opportunity to  
gain lots of power and importance. I guess I didn't think at all, 'cause I went along with the  
flow. And after some of my relatives were (probably justly) killed or imprisoned by the Aurors,  
I decided I wanted to join You Know Who. I was accepted to the inner circle just months before  
his fall. After that those left of my family (the ones in Azkaban had all died) got themselves  
bravely killed or fled in all directions - mostly overseas. And then I sort of betrayed them,  
because I saw how foolish I'd been and repented. Since then I've kept a low profile, hoping to  
remain unnoticed. But..." Desperation creeps into her voice again, mingling with a tiredness   
obviously caused by the long resistance to the Dementors.  
  
"Since then... How long has it been?" I ask.  
  
"What? Oh... almost seven years. Yeah, six and a half by now."  
  
Six and a half years... "So it's spring now?"  
  
"Yes, the end of March, if I'm not mistaken. Of course I could be. Soon I'll probably not even   
know how old I am." Sure, I think with a grim inward smile. So I've just become twenty-eight. And  
Harry will be eight soon...  
  
I shake these thoughts off as well as I can and ask instead, "But if you've come back to the good   
side, why did they put you in prison? Really, it WAS a long time ago, how vindictive can they be?  
How did you end up here?"  
  
Letitia's eyes darken. I can clearly feel her retreating into her shell, the process being   
quickened by the presence of the already quite angry Dementors. She huddles against the cold   
stone wall and turns away the eyes that have become strangely hazy.  
  
"No, Letitia! Don't lose it now! Don't give in to them!"  
  
She starts rocking back and forward and muttering to herself. After a few anxious minutes she   
suddenly becomes motionless and looks at me. I cannot be sure, but I think there are tears in her  
eyes.  
  
"Because there are some crimes that never age," she says very quietly and very clearly, "and no   
changing of sides can make them disappear."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"I... I killed a man." Suddenly her face changes to ordinary again and she says in a justifying   
tone, "But he was a werewolf, and he deserved it."  
  
"A werewolf?" My voice is cold and calm, but everything inside me is burning. Not Moony, no; she   
can't mean Moony; of course she isn't, you silly; it wasn't Moony; not Moony, Moony's safe; if it  
was Moony, I'll kill her, I swear; not Moony... Then come other thoughts: I didn't trust Moony, I  
thought he was Voldemort's spy - Remus, our truest friend!; what an idiot I am, forgive me,   
Moony, forgive me; and for that stupid stunt, too, that almost put the weight of murder upon your   
soul, though it was all my fault; I've deserved it that you think of me as a traitor now, I've   
deserved it; and yet it's very hard to think that even you don't know the truth...  
  
"... Baldrin. Sirius? Sirius, wake up! Wake up! Sirius!"  
  
Slowly the whirling haze of colours turns into the normal world again.  
  
"Now who's giving in to 'em? You daydreamer, did you even hear what I said? I said his name was   
Nicholas Baldrin."  
  
"Thank you..."  
  
"For what? Sirius, you've completely lost it!"  
  
"Nothing. Forget it. And - regret can make up for any crime."  
  
Letitia looks into my eyes for a long time without saying a word. Then she, too, whispers, "Thank  
you."  
  
And though neither of us can smile, we both feel much relieved.  
  
Suddenly the world starts spinning around. The last thing I see before yielding to the pain in   
my head (which feels like someone was crushing my mind with overwhelming weight), is two more   
Dementors coming down the corridor towards our cells. Then everything goes black.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Darkness and nightmares, nightmares and darkness. Once I can dimly sense steps, voices and people  
staring at me with fear, interest and disgust, like children watching carniverous beasts in the   
zoo. Inspection. Of course, that's why the Dementors haven't been torturing us properly today, I  
manage to think before the nightmares drown me again.  
  
When I finally wake up, the square of sunlight has moved to the wall opposite to my bed and   
turned reddish. I feel strangely light, as if a pressure had been lifted from me, and for a few   
minutes I don't dare to move, afraid that perhaps the feeling will disappear. Then I understand   
that this is caused by the absence of the Dementors: they're changing the shifts again.  
  
I quickly stand up, step to the cell door and peep through the double bars into the next cell.  
Letitia is asleep on her bed, deep in a sleep very uncommon to Azkaban - from the part of her   
face uncovered with her hair I can see that she's peaceful. It's a pity to wake her up now, but I  
might never again have the chance to speak to her without the Dementors twisting our minds.  
  
"Letitia!"  
  
She stirs and opens her eyes very suddenly. Seeing no Dementors, a sigh of relief escapes her   
lips. Then she notices me, stands up and comes as close as the cell bars let her.  
  
"Why'd you wake me up?"  
  
At this moment I realize that I don't know the reason. "Just to talk to you before... THEY come   
back, I guess."  
  
Letitia shudders, although I didn't say "the Dementors". Then she suddenly leans closer to me,   
pressing her face against the bars.  
  
"You've got blue eyes," she says with a bit of surprise in her quiet voice. "Absolutely sky-blue  
eyes. With such eyes... you can't be mad... or a murderer..."  
  
My face twitches in spite of all the numbness Azkaban has taught me. I'm grateful that she  
doesn't know who I am. Under a sudden thought I reach my hand through the bars. She looks   
surprised, but follows my example. We have to strain ourselves, but we succeed in touching each   
other's hands briefly. For a moment even Azkaban feels a bit warmer.  
  
The cold and the darkness rush upon us so suddenly that we are caught completely off guard.   
There's no chance to fight them now. I can't see Letitia any more... Dementors coming down the   
corridor... cold, terrible cold... I stumble towards my bed (or at least I think I do), hoping to  
fall on something soft... I DO fall, but whether it's on something soft or hard I cannot tell any   
more.  
  
The absolute darkness retreats as the memory-pictures start flashing again. Laughing together   
with James and Remus and Peter... transfigurating in order to sneak out at night and break the   
last few school rules that have remained unnoticed by us so far... the tortured look in Moony's  
eyes when the full moon's close again... Wormtail, the damned traitor, accusing me through fake  
sobs... James' and Lily's dead bodies lying in the ruins of their house... no, not again...   
Harry, my godson, who either doesn't know me or hates me... please... go away, leave me alone...  
so cold... let me go... I'm innocent, let me go... I swear I didn't do it... I'm not a traitor...  
let me go... I'm innocent...  
  
I wake up briefly - just in time to watch the last glow of sunlight fade on the little square of   
sky I can see through my cell window. I hear Letitia tossing in her bed, muttering and sometimes  
crying out in sleep.  
  
I think it is evening.  
  
At least I fall from the less lifelike nightmares of the day into the terribly real nightmares of  
the night.   
  
  
  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
  
The Dementors took a hard revenge on me. I didn't wake up from the nightmares for a whole week,   
and they seemed to be the worst I had ever seen.  
  
When I finally regained my senses, Letitia was sitting on her bed and singing a silly children's  
lullaby to nobody. In her sleep she screamed that she was sorry she had killed the werewolf. As   
much as I would have wanted it, I didn't have enough strength yet to talk to her.  
  
Another week later Letitia had fallen completely silent and wouldn't respond to any of my shouts   
or pleadings.  
  
After a month her dead body was carried out of the cell to be buried at the prison graveyard. She   
had no family left in England who could have buried her in a more decent place, and her only   
friend was sitting in his cell, unable even to say good-bye.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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